Post Traumatic
by MakingLuck101
Summary: War leaves scars. His screams are proof of that, and so are her bruises. Post-fourth-shinobi-world-war-fic.


Hey, everyone! I'm actually pretty excited to get this one out there. It was an idea that sprung up and I just had to get it written down.

Sorry for any grammar mistakes. I tried my best.

Summary: War leaves scars. His screams are proof of that, and so are her bruises. Post-fourth-shinobi-world-war-fic.

**I don't own Naruto. **

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Post Traumatic

_by Julie_

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She wakes to screaming.

It isn't unusual, at least, not anymore. Sometimes it's just moaning, and sometimes it is silence. She hates the silence the most because he is anything, but silent. He should snore and move in his sleep, but instead, he's silent. He doesn't mutter incoherently or make those silly faces, no. When it's absolutely silent she knows something is wrong.

His screaming also tells her something is wrong. She knows there isn't any immediate danger. No one has infiltrated the three bedroom apartment they share and no one is trying to kill them. The seals he has placed around the area have not been set off, so, it's okay_._

Except it's not _okay_.

It's not outside forces they have to worry about. It's the inside ones, the ones that haunt them in their sleep and in their minds. It's the ones that never disappear and leave them shaking with fear and despair, the one's that make them tremble and sob.

The screaming becomes louder as she steps closer to his room. The door is orange - a color he picked out, of course. She had only smiled and taken the paint brush from his hand to help. He'd helped her paint her door pink, after all. They'd spent much too long painting both doors, talking about trivial things and enjoying each other's company. He'd gotten paint on her nose and she'd retaliated by slashing the brush across his face, leaving a funny, but rather appropriate, orange mark. They'd laughed and giggled and forgotten everything. This all seems far away now.

She grips the doorknob tightly as she hears him groan. She can practically feel him bucking and twisting in the sheets, trying to kick away the nightmares. He isn't in any physical pain, but even that is not a relief. She exhales slowly and finally enters.

The only light comes from the moon. A silvery glow fills the room through the window, illuminating the bed where he lays. Sweat sheens his body, but she knows it's a cold sweat. He looks pale and clammy, and she struggles not to rush to his side. He doesn't like that. Or rather, his unconscious state doesn't like that.

"No..." he moans, his fists gripping the sheets. His head lulls to the side, and she sees the muscles in his jaw working. His eyebrows furrow and he struggles with something. She wonders what he's seeing. She wonders if it's the same nightmares, the one he shares with her whenever she comes to comfort him. Her nightmares vary, but most of them consist of him dying; it's her greatest fear.

He battles in his sleep. He sees the bodies of his fallen comrades and feels the exhaustion of war. He hears their screams and touches their blood. He remembers. How can he forget?

How can anyone forget?

He screams again, making her jump. His cries are tormented. He is tormented.

The floorboards creak as she makes her way to his side. He is unaware of her presence and she hopes it remains that way. She does not wish to wake him, just soothe him. If he wakes, he won't sleep again and the day will drag on for the both of them. She'll go to work worrying about him and he'll go exhaust himself all over again.

Her heart starts as he gives a choked cry. His hand reaches out for something - anything. He begs silently, pleading for help. And soon he finds it.

Cerulean eyes snap open and the next thing she knows, she's against the wall with a hand closed around her neck. She coughs and struggles against him, but no amount of chakra induced strength seems to be enough. She tries to pry his hand off, but can't. He holds the other hand against the wall, his grip like iron. His breathe rings harshly in her ear, too hot against her body.

His eyes bore into hers, but do not see her. She watches her terrified reflection in those deep, empty pools. The pink haired woman struggles uselessly and shame fills her for not being able to win this. This isn't the first time she's lost, but it is the first time he's actually put his hands on her.

But he does not see her. He sees the enemy. He sees what he always sees within his deepest sleep, in the darkness. He sees bodies and blood and stained kunai. He sees war.

"Naruto!" she cries, though it comes out as more of a strained croak. It effectively breaks through his trance and when his eyes come into focus, he finds himself standing, holding his best friend against the wall with a force that can shatter bones. The wetness of her tears against his skin makes him jump back as if he's been struck.

She falls to the ground, coughing and sputtering, trying to regain her wits.

He looks horrified. His chest heaves as he holds his hands up, staring at them with utter disgust. She sits against the wall, clutching her arm against her chest. She's ashamed to feel the stinging sensation in her eyes. She can feel bruises forming and is glad it's too dark to see them develop.

He looks like he did back then, when they'd been on a mission, when he'd nearly destroyed her arm in his rage. He'd looked so defeated back then, even after she'd forgiven him. Now, he looks like he's the one being destroyed.

"Sakura-chan," he whispers, his voice heavy with guilt. Though the fear has not disappeared from her, she's managed to breathe again. He looks shocked at what he's done. He's worried, but too afraid to come any closer. Too afraid he'll do something else to hurt her.

Their panting is the only noise in their apartment. Her breathe comes out more as a wheeze and he looks on the verge of hyperventilating.

Her fingers gingerly touch the spots where he held her and he cringes. He turns his head away, unable to look at the damage he's done. His bangs fall over his face, and she knows he's trying to hide his haunted eyes in the shadows.

Shadows seem like a common thing these days for the both of them. Everything is shadows and darkness. They are shadows of their former selves, so desperately trying to gain back what they lost. They brought the darkness of war back with victory. They brought scars with their smiles. After all, war brings scars. His screaming proves that, and now, so does her bruises.

The moonlight has dimmed, but their shadows stand clear. She can see his hunched shoulders shaking, and see her own body vibrating, too. The taste of salt tears on her face is evident and she wipes them away. But the damage is done. It was done a long time ago, when they decided they wanted to be shinobi.

The lonely, little blonde in the past would never have guessed what life would bring him and the ignorant, little girl would never dream of what fate would bestow on her.

She dreamed of being loved by the enigmatic, raven haired boy and raising cute little babies with him - but all that is lost now. She's not a stupid little girl who only thinks about boys. She's a woman who's seen death and destruction and the aftermath of it all. She's had her hands bloodied and she knows what the shinobi life is.

He dreamed of being Hokage, and she has no doubt he will achieve this dream. Only now, he understands tribulation and pain and sacrifice. He knows war and damn it, she wishes he didn't.

She wishes they could go back to when they were foolish and blind to it all. She wishes they could go back to when he was the idiot who ran around laughing loudly and playing pranks and she was just the girl who stupidly fawned over the cool guy. Because at least then, he didn't wake up screaming and she didn't get strangled.

She stands up, inhaling rather unstably and sees him jerk back, as if he's afraid to lash out at her again. His breathe hitches and for a moment, she sees a hint of silver sliding down his cheek.

It breaks her heart. This is not who he is supposed to be. He is sunshine and happiness and hopes and dreams. But she sees anger and suffering and a great deal of devastation. He's a different man, marked by war and hardships. They've all changed, matured in a way that shouldn't have to. However, they are shinobi. This is the life of shinobi. And war is a never ending cycle of pain, even the part after it.

She carefully extends a hand and he stiffens, but doesn't move away. When her warmth touches his cold chest, she feels his heart stutter under her hand. His chest stops moving for a moment and she carefully presses her fingers against his tanned skin.

He still doesn't dare touch her, but she moves closer. Her body is almost pressed against his and the other hand takes his much larger one.

"It's okay." But it's not. They both know it. Even as she squeezes his hand reassuringly, they both know it's not okay. Nothing is.

"I'm sorry." And he is. It's a tiny, pathetic whisper, but she can hear his sincerity and his desperation. She wonders if he can feel hers.

They came back, beaten and battered, but victorious. They'd felt as if they were on top of the world, and they were. Their goals were reached and now it was time to create new ones. Their futures held so much more potential than before. They shared hopes and dreams that they were determined to make come true.

But it didn't take long for them to realize that they'd lost a lot more than comrades on the battlefield.

She lost more than a few good men and women out there. She had her hands stained with crimson as she tried to save those who were already lost. She had her heart broken more than once as they fought.

He'd saved his brother, but lost a part of himself and his innocence through it all. He'd taken lives over and over again. He'd been too foolish and let his fellow shinobi die at the hands of the enemy.

They're broken and even if they can paste smiles on their faces in public, they can't hide it at night, when nothing is hidden and everything creeps. He can't stop his nightmares and she can't stop the fear that grips her heart when all the lights go out. They can't stop reliving the war.

She wraps her arms around his neck because she wants to, but more because she has to. He has to know that everything okay, even if it's not. He has to know that she is there and always will be - because he needs her, and she needs him, too.

Slowly, his arms wrap around her body. Though he holds her like she's glass, he doesn't let her go. Because he can't. It's too late for both of them, and she's okay with that. She doesn't mind staying by his side for the rest of their lives. She's his lifeline and he's hers. It's an unhealthy codependency, but it's the only way they function. Somewhere along the way, they both forgot how to do otherwise.

He whispers her name against her fair cheek and she rubs spirals against his well-toned back. He allows his muscles to relax, knowing that it's all okay - even though it's not.

The stings on her neck fade, leaving a dull ache. The sting on her heart stays, leaving a roaring flame.

They spend the rest of night awake, lying in his small bed, with her cheek resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around her body. They breathe together, but do not sleep. He's too afraid that he'll snap, and she can't sleep knowing he's scared to move because it could hurt her. They don't say anything, just lay and stay silent.

The bruises disappear with some handy medical ninjutsu, but the scars don't. Scars don't heal, not for a Jinchuriki and not for a professional medic.

They _never_ will.

But they're both okay, even when it's not. As long as they have each other, they'll make it through the night.

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Did you like it? I hope so. Again, sorry for any mistakes. Please review and favorite and all that good stuff. Thanks for reading!


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